This Living Hand
by lavonnallama
Summary: When long dead war hero and former headmaster of Hogwarts, Severus Snape, comes back from the dead, it flabbergasts the wizarding world. How did he survive, why has he returned after so long, and what does the Ministry's own Miss. Hermione Granger have to do with it all? DH Compliant, happily ignores the epilogue. Rating may change in the future.
1. Chapter 1

_Yet now despair itself is mild,_

_ Even as the winds and waters are; _

_I could lie down like a tired child,_

_ And weep away the life of care_

_ Which I have borne and yet must bear,_

_Till death like sleep might steal on me,_

_ And I might feel in the warm air_

_My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea_

_Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony._

_ —Percy Bysshe Shelley_

May 2, 1998

Severus Snape had never meant to survive his final confrontation with the Dark Lord. Admittedly, he hadn't imagined it going quite the way it had, but under the circumstances, he supposed he had done the best he could manage. It was a very good thing Potter had found him when he had though, because had he not, there would have been no chance of delivering Dumbledores final message, and then the whole thing would have been for nought. His allegiance to the Dark Lord, his love of Lily Potter, his protection of her son after everything... but Potter _had_ found him, and in the end, Severus Snape been able to do the one thing he had always been good for: helping Harry Fucking Potter defeat Voldemort. Ironic, that he would spend so much of his adult life catering to the son of a man he'd spent most of his youth hating. He supposed though, that it had been worth it to preserve the only child of the love of his life... again, not that it mattered, Potter would die, just as he was doing now... with every beat of his heart.

God how he wished the process would hurry. From what he had learned of Nagini's venom during his many long years of service to her master, it was slow to kill and excruciating during the process. In fact, the venom was so slow that Severus could not recollect a single of her victims dying from it before the blood loss took them. Hopefully that would be his fate before too long. The venom burned like embers in his veins and he imagined for a moment that they were disintegrating and his blood pooling beneath his flesh. If he could have screamed he would have, but he was so weak, so paralyzed that he could barely breath. His heart was slowing and his eyes now shut and all that remained to him was the pain. It was agonizing and all encompassing, the extent of his existence now as thought fled and he embraced the completeness of his torture. This then, was what death felt like.

And then a moment of relief followed by darkness as complete as his pain had been.

Something was odd, Severus thought, something had changed. To begin with, he could think again, and the fire in his veins was gone. In fact, the only pain he felt was a slight ache in his joints, as if he had been sleeping for too long. He breathed in once, nearly choking on the pungent smell of decay. He swallowed and grimaced as he did so. His throat was as dry as it had ever been and his tongue felt like sand paper. He tried to reach up, to touch his throat, but his hand hit something hard above him, bruising his knuckles.

"Fuck," he said, his voice so hoarse it was unrecognizable. Where the bloody hell was he? He lifted his hand again and allowed himself to feel whatever was above him. It was smooth and slightly curved upwards. It extended towards his head and feet and as he felt down toward his sides he understood.

"Good God," he muttered, horrified. A coffin, he was in a bloody coffin. Terror swept over him before he could prevent it he felt his throat begin to close and his heart race. Severus Snape had never enjoyed small spaces, but this was more than just a cramped, windowless bedroom. He had been buried, which meant he had been dead. No, not dead or else he wouldn't now be conscious. He had been buried alive. Sweetly, impossibly alive. He shouldn't be here, Merlin how he wished he could just breath and slip back into the brief moment of unconscious relief he had experienced after the excruciating pain of the snakes venom. Had that been death? How long had he been there? it had seemed like no more than a moment, but if he had been moved from the bloodstained floor of the Shrieking Shack to this tomb... a portkey perhaps? Why couldn't he remember? What had happened to him? More importantly, how was he going to get out of this?

Almost instantaneously, the panic subsided, replaced by the cool logic that had always saved him in the face of immense danger.

_Think, Snape, think! _ The little voice in his head hissed, _You're in a coffin, probably under-ground. Someone took the time to bury you and heal your wounds, apparently. They either cared about your remains or wanted you trapped and tortured upon revival. Though its unlikely, let us assume the first, as thats the course that leaves the most options. A wizard dies and is buried in a casket with some sort of lining... is that satin? Good God who did these people think he was? Focus, Snape. A man is buried. No... a wizard is buried, and when a wizard is buried it is with his... _

"Yes," Severus hissed, grasping the wand laid vertically on his chest and grinning into the darkness.

A sudden surge of calmness came over him as he felt the thin piece of wood in his hand, as familiar as his own arm. Now he could control this situation, now he was whole.

It took him only a minute to calculate the likelihood of killing himself with a Reductor Curse before deciding to go ahead with it anyway. So long as he shielded himself accurately, any backlash from trying to get through 6 solid feet of earth should settle above the bounds of his spell.

"Protego," he whispered, and like an old friend his wand tip sprang into action, glowing fiercely before sending out a thick blanket of shimmering light which enveloped his body, settling a couple of inches above him. The soft glow the shield cast provided Severus with his first view of his final resting place. He sneered. The casket was lined with satin after all. And what in Merlins name was he wearing? Were those _white_ robes? And dead roses to either side of him? That explained the god-awful smell.

"Reducto," he hissed vehemently. He watched with satisfaction as the world above him changed near instantaneously. His curse hit the coffin's lid, blasting it into pieces and thrusting them backwards along with all of the earth above him. It moved like a wave, rippling up and then back down so forcefully his sheild shook upon impact.

_Well, there's half your work done,_ said the voice in his head snidely. After that it was a bit of work. A bubble head charm, some maneuvering into an upright position, and then working his way up out of the loose earth, clawing at the topsoil until his head broke the surface and he clamored fully up onto the ground, collapsing into a heap on the ground and nearly sobbing with relief.

Sweet Nimue, he was alive and covered in dirt and laying on his back on top of his own grave, staring up at the stars as they twinkled along merrily, unaware that he had just died and been resurrected, because really what other explanation was there? Severus reached up and brushed at his face with the hand not clutching onto his wand for dear life. Were those tears on his face, or sweat? He couldn't tell and at this point, he didn't much care. He was there, breathing fresh air with a throat that showed no signs of having been ripped out by an evil snake what seemed to him like just minutes before. He was blessed, revived... absolved?

He lost track of time, staring up at the stars and just breathing and existing in awe of whatever had happened. He tried to reason through it, but reason failed him and in the end, it didn't matter.

The next day when a visitor to the small kirk yard cemetery noticed the cracked headstone and caved in earth above the grave, the wizarding world was sent into an uproar.


	2. Chapter 2

_You did not come,_

_And marching Time drew on, and wore me numb._

_Yet less for loss of your dear presence there_

_Than that I thus found lacking in your make_

_That high compassion which can overbear_

_Reluctance for pure lovingkindess' sake_

_Grieved I, when, as the hope-hour stroked its sum, _

_You did not come. _

_-Thomas Hardy_

**October 3, 2000**

"Ronald, is that really necessary?" Hermione Granger watched as her boyfriend of two years, marched around their bedroom, grabbing a few of his things at what seemed to her like random and stuffing them into a large satchel slung over his shoulder.

"I dunno, Hermione," he said, voice gone loud with the strain of not shouting, "What do you think? Personally, I'm not a big fan of continuing to live with a woman whose clearly over our relationship—"

"You're being over-dramatic," said Hermione quickly, flinching as Ron rounded on her and wishing she'd rephrased her words.

"Over-dramatic?" he exclaimed, "You think I'm being— bloody hell, Hermione, last I checked it wasn't over-dramatic to call off a relationship with someone who turned your marriage proposal down, it was bloody good sense!"

"Ron," she said, "You're taking this completely wrong!"

"How else am I supposed to take it?" He challenged, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down at her, sitting on the bed with her hands clasped in her lap. She wasn't crying anymore, but the massive row they'd had not an hour before had left her face tear-stained and splotchy and her hair frizzing around her unattractively.

"I tried to explain before," she said, voice hushed, "You weren't interested in listening."

"Well I'm interested now, aren't I?" His jaw was set in that stubborn way she recognized from their youth and she had a horrible flash back to their third year and the way he'd glowered at her for weeks over the misunderstanding with Crookshanks.

"Fine," she said, standing up and moving her hands to her hips. Though she was upset and felt horribly guilty, she was not willing to take sole responsibility for this debacle. "I didn't turn you down because I don't _love_ you, Ron. I wasn't breaking up with you! I just… I'm not ready to be married!"

"Not ready to be married?" Shouted Ron. Hermione winced at the noise level. The muggles living in the flat beside theirs were a nosy lot, and she was sure she'd have a visit from one or more of them in the morning. "Are you being serious?"

"Yes," she said stiffly, trying to keep her own voice under control.

"That's bollocks!" said Ron, "When you love someone, you want to spend the rest of your life with them. You want to marry them and start a family, Hermione, not just live together indefinitely until you feel _ready_."

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "How could you say I don't—" she began, but he cut her off. He was well and truly ranting now, and Hermione knew that if she let him continue he would be completely over the top in no time. The trick was looking for a good stopping point.

"I can't believe you!" he shouted, "Over a year we've been living here, a year with my Mum looking down her nose at us for living together without being married, and you're 'not ready?' I've been here for you, waiting for you to even bring up the idea that you might want to be with me longer than our lease contract, and when I finally decide to bring it up you tell me no? No!? You should have bloody well told me how you felt in the beginning, back when we decided to move in together!"

"Bring it up?" said Hermione in disbelief, "Ron, you didn't just bring it up, you asked me to marry you!"

"And obviously that was a mistake," he responded icily.

Hermione gasped at his tone. Perhaps asking her to marry him had been a mistake, but he needn't have sounded so nasty about it.

"Ron," she said, trying to soothe him as he turned around and marched to the closet, flinging it open and grabbing a couple of his work robes and some jumpers from their hangers before draping them over his arm. "It's not that I don't _ever_ want to move on in our relationship, but Ron, I'm barely twenty-one! You're only twenty! I love you dearly, but neither of us are ready for that level of commitment."

He didn't respond, only made his way towards the bedroom door and strode through it, his gaze steely.

"Ron! Ronald!" she called after him, clenching her fists in frustration and making her way after him.

"Please, Ron," she said as she watched him walking angrily towards the front door, "Don't go. Stay, we can talk about this when we're more calm."

He stopped, his hand outstretched towards the door handle, his satchel full of odds and ends and his clothes slung messily over his broad shoulder. He refused to look at her though, as his ears burned bright red and he struggled to compose himself.

"I don't think so, Hermione," he said, "We've talked enough. I asked you to spend the rest of your life with me, and you said no. I don't think there is anything left to discuss." He reached out and turned the door handle, yanking it towards him and stepping out into the hallway. "I'll send someone round for the rest of my things," he said.

The door slammed after him and Hermione's heart sank from her chest to the pit of her stomach.

Well, they had certainly made a mess of that. It was probably the worst argument they'd ever had, including the night Ron had walked out on she and Harry when they were on the run. At least then, he had been able to blame his behavior on the Horcrux. This time though… well, it wasn't entirely his fault, but he did deserve some of the blame. What had he been thinking? She knew he'd been keeping a secret lately, it hadn't taken any complicated arithmancy equations to figure out he was excited about it, but she had assumed (foolishly it now seemed) that he had been planning a holiday of some sort to celebrate the promotion she'd just received at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The promotion and all of the hard work she'd put into getting it in the last year had taken up so much of her time that she'd actually been quite looking forward to a trip somewhere.

But no, the secrecy and the elaborate breakfast in bed that morning followed by a quick round of love-making had not been about traveling, it had been about marriage. When Ron had pulled the ring out of his nightstand and presented it to her, she'd gone instantly pale and prayed silently that he wouldn't say what she knew he was about to.

She hadn't really heard much of what he had said. Her mind had been moving so quickly from thought to thought. _Oh Ron, please don't. We haven't even discussed it yet. I'm dealing with the promotion and I'm about to start working on that legislation for the enfranchisement of House Elves…Ron, no!_

Unfortunately, Ronald Weasley could not read minds, and so he poured his heart out to her and waited expectantly for her to say yes. Of course she couldn't. There were too many things to think about, too much to work out and accomplish before they considered marriage. For goodness sake, she'd barely graduated from Hogwarts the year before after returning to take seventh year and prepare herself for the N.E.W.T.s and had spent the year between then and now working her end off as an entry level quill pusher to get to where she was now. They'd lived together but hadn't really gotten to spend much quality time in each others presence, something she had been hoping to rectify later that year when she was done with her work on what she hoped to be a bill which would transform wizarding society. And she'd told him as much last week when they'd argued over whether she would attend a quidditch match with him or not! What was he thinking?

_"No, Ron, I'm afraid I can't say yes."_ She had said. But before she could explain he'd exploded and she'd let her temper get the better of her and they'd started arguing about things like quidditch and ancient runes and in the end, he'd asked her give her a final, definitive answer… and she'd said no. Merlin, he was the most frustrating man on the planet, and the fact that he'd turned his proposal into a diatribe about her not loving him enough to marry him killed her. Of course she loved him! But was it fair for him to ask her to make such a gigantic decision before she was ready, before even discussing it with her? She didn't even know what she wanted out of life, whether marriage was for her or whether she wanted children or whether she'd prefer to focus on her career. And it wasn't as if they had discussed it in terms any more precise than "I love you so much," or "One day when we're old." Was it fair of him to ask her to sort out exactly how she felt about marriage and then commit to spend the rest of her life with him in a matter of minutes?

She didn't think so. Yes, she loved him, but she was unwilling to rush a decision just because he decided he needed to make his mother happy and marry the girl he was shagging.

Hermione shook her head to clear her thoughts and walked back into the bedroom. She made her way around the room, righting the things Ron had toppled over in his haste and shutting the door of the closet. As she took in the startling emptiness on his side of the bed and dresser, her anger turned slowly to sadness. She was reminded again of that night not so long ago, when Ron had stormed out on them, disappearing into the night with a faint pop rather than facing the pain of having a serious discussion and solving disagreements. Not much had changed in the years since, it seemed, not even the horrible hole in her heart after he'd gone.

She wondered as she sank back onto the unmade bed, whether she'd made a terrible mistake in saying no to him. In the long run, she didn't see herself with anyone _but _Ron. He had been there since they were children, one of her closest friends and confidants. She knew his moods, the good and the bad, and she was comfortable with him. Their relationship was tumultuous, they fought like cats and dogs… but when things were good, they were really good. That was what love was supposed to be, wasn't it? Of course, she couldn't remember her own parents having the type of shouting matches she and Ron had had over the years, but perhaps they were the exception, not the rule.

Either way, she knew with certainty that she loved the ridiculous, hot-tempered red-head… but she was beginning to wonder whether the love she had for him was enough. If she could say no to a marriage proposal from him… was that a sign that she didn't care for him as much as she should? Or maybe a sign of immaturity on her part? If she truly loved him the way he deserved, wouldn't she have jumped at the chance to be his wife? She had always known what Ron wanted out of life, and ultimately it was marriage and children and a wife who devoted herself to him the way Molly had to Arthur. And he, in turn, wanted to support that woman and bring her flowers and whatever sort of other things women generally asked of their men.

Perhaps it had been her muggle heritage showing when she hadn't taken all of that into account earlier, when she'd moved in with him and expected their relationship to be in this pleasant stasis for years. Because that's what muggles did, they dated for years, moved in with each other, lived together for a few more years, and then were married. Had she taken the time to study pure blooded witches and wizards the way she had her spell books, she might have realized that in wizarding society, that was simply not how things were done. Lily and James Potter had been married soon after graduating from Hogwarts. Likewise with Ron's parents. A majority of her class mates had done the same already, and she knew for a fact that Harry had already bought a ring with which to propose to Ginny (who still lived at home with her parents, much to her mother's relief).

But Hermione was not a pure-blood, she was a muggle-born, and she was not ashamed of that fact. As much as she'd tried to learn and fit in to wizarding culture and society, there were some things she was unwilling to compromise on, some "hills to die on" as her mother had once said. And apparently a rushed engagement and wedding at the age of twenty-one was one of those things. She certainly wasn't pessimistic or over-dramatic enough to believe that marriage could ruin the trajectory of her career, but that really wasn't the issue. No, the problem was with her inability to be ready, and Ron's unwillingness to wait.

After all this time, after all the long stares and awkward silences in school. The petty arguments and huge rows that had marred their years together. After the bliss of their first kiss and summer together before she'd gone back to school… and after the last two years which had been comprised of a year apart while she finished school, followed by living together with rushed dates on nights they could manage and busy social schedules with friends and co-workers… after everything. It had come down to one morning, one question, and one little word.

"Oh Ron," she cried, sinking back into the bed and drawing the duvet up over her head as the tears she hadn't noticed welling up in her eyes began to spill over.

**A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed, favorited or followed Chapter One. Just a couple of notes. First, I am planning on working out a more solid posting schedule, but as of right now I'm leaning towards Monday/Wednesday/Friday. On slower writing weeks it might be a Monday/Thursday thing or simply a Wednesday. Once I see the pace at which I'm able to write the chapters, I'll be able to give you something more definitive. Barring some emergency though, there will be a new chapter weekly. And second, this story, though begun from Severus' point of view, will continue to switch between he and Hermione's voices, probably with more Hermione than Severus. Just to let you all know. **

**Thanks for reading, and have a fabulous day!**


	3. Chapter 3

_I wander thro' each charter'd street,_

_Near where the charter'd Thames does flow, _

_And mark in every face I meet_

_Marks of weakness, marks of woe._

_In every cry of every man, _

_In every Infant's cry of fear,_

_In ever voice, in every ban,_

_The mind-forg'd manacles I hear. _

_—William Blake_

**September 19, 2004**

The Leaky Cauldron was more over-crowded than was usual that Sunday afternoon. Hermione supposed it was, in part, because of her. She and her party had taken two long tables up and squashed them together, sitting all in a row with her at the head wearing some sort of ridiculous looking crown and a sash that read "Birthday Witch". She had a feeling that both the crown and the sash were Weasley products, as the moment she'd put them on, all of her friends and co-workers had burst out into peals of laughter. And perhaps it was just the four fire-whiskeys, Two butter-beers and one "painted hag"—whatever that was— that she'd been convinced to drink, but she was fairly certain that her sensible slacks and button up blouse had turned into a rather garish, lime green dress. And she shuddered to think of what might have become of her hair. Still, she was having a rather wonderful time, and if she thought about it really hard (which she wouldn't, because her head was currently pounding much too hard to do any difficult thinking) it might actually be quite funny. Besides, everyone was having a lovely time, and she hadn't felt this pleased in quite a while.

"Oi, Granger," she heard someone call from somewhere down the table.

"Yes?" she giggled, hiccuping and covering her mouth with the back of one hand.

"How old are you today?"

"Twenty-five," she answered.

"Twenty-five," the voice echoed, and as the man stood she could finally make him out. It was Oliver Wood. Though the man had signed with and played for the Puddlemere United Reserve Quidditch Team for five years after his graduation, a wonky curse cast on him during a match had ended his quidditch career and sent him to the ministry where he was hired on at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures around the same time she was. And though Hermione had worked her rear-end of to get promotion after promotion since being hired, he had been content to work out in the field, parlaying with centaurs, transporting dragons, and, after Hermione's crowning achievement had been passed into law, enforcing the fair treatment of house-elves and other disenfranchised creatures.

Yes, Hermione had grown rather fond of Oliver Wood since she'd really gotten to know him, and though a romantic relationship had never quite worked out for them (Quidditch, Oliver? Again?), they had become good friends.

"Twenty-five," repeated Oliver as the jolly voices around him died down. "Well, Happy birthday, Hermione," he said.

"Happy birthday!" called the rest of the group, and Hermione raised a glass at them all, watching as the contents sloshed over the side and being grateful that she'd finally made the switch to water.

"Our Hermione Granger," continued Oliver, "Is having a birthday today! And what's more, is that she's _still_ the youngest bloody person to be made head of the legal branch at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in the history of—well—ever!"

"Well it's not the entire, legal branch," she corrected, "I've nothing to do with the Wizengamot, they're sort of their own entity, actually. I deal strictly with making sure whats on the books is relevant to the state of the wizarding world and—"

"Right," said Oliver, cutting her off. Hermione winced at herself and nodded, giggling again in embarrassment. Even completely wasted she had to be stopped from rambling on about her work. The company around her laughed heartily as she blushed.

"Well," Oliver said, smiling down the table at her. "We just wanted a chance to say happy birthday, and good luck with those dim-wits on level-two come Monday!"

"Hey, I'm no nit-wit" shouted a very drunk looking Harry from her right. Ginny smacked his arm, shushing him and smiling brightly at Hermione as she did so. "Don't mind him," she said to Hermione. And for some reason, this was extremely funny, because she found herself breaking out into giggles again.

The party began to wind down after Oliver's little speech, and Hermione found herself on the receiving end of a great deal of hand shakes, several hugs and one sloppy, drunken kiss from Dean Thomas, who she was pretty sure had meant to catch her on the cheek. Finally, the dining room was quiet save for her and Oliver, Harry and Ron who had all stayed until the end.

"Where's Ginny gone?" wondered Hermione aloud.

"Home," said Harry, "The baby makes her tired and she said she felt like blowing chunks earlier."

"Lovely," said Hermione, crinkling her nose. Though she had wanted children some day, Ginny's pregnancy was making her rethink the prospect daily.

"Happy birthday, Mione," came an over-loud voice from her right. She felt the heavy drape of a burly arm over her shoulders and looked up to see Ron smiling down at her.

"Ronald Weasley, you are perfectly sloshed," she said affectionately.

He smiled down at her.

"That I am," he agreed. "Fancy calling Lynne for me?"

"As if she'd rescue you," said Hermione, "The woman's got as little pity for you as I have, which is a good thing if you ask me."

"I'm wounded," said Ron, smiling and disengaging himself.

Though it had taken them the better part of a year for them to speak again after she'd turned down his proposal, Hermione and Ron were once again friendly. It had helped, she thought, that in 2002, just after she'd managed to get the Bill for the Fair Treatment of House Elves and other Disenfranchised Creatures (She called it B.F.F.T.O.H.E.A.O.D.C. in her head) placed before the full Wizengamot, he had met his fiancee, Lynne Jenkins, sister to Joey Jenkins who played beater for the Chudley Cannons.

"Another round of drinks?" asked Oliver, sitting against the table in front of her and peering down.

Hermione shook her head and regretted the movement almost instantly as it sent her stomach roiling. "I think not," she said. Harry and Oliver laughed as Ron made his way over to the hearth, running into a haggard looking witch on the way and apologizing profusely. Once he finally managed to reach his destination, she watched as he took a pinch of floo powder, cast it into the flames, and followed it with his head. He was probably trying to call Lynne, she thought. If she were a little less drunk herself, she might have tried to stop him, but as it was she didn't think she'd be of much use.

"Looking forward to working with Gawain, then?" asked Harry from next to her.

"Gawain…"

"Robards, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! Merlin, Hermione! How gone are you?"

Hermione snorted. "Just a little. But I'm allowed. It's my birthday, haven't you heard?"

Harry nodded.

"And yes," continued Hermione, "I'm quite excited about the opportunity."

"Not even a little sad to be leaving me?" asked Oliver, dragging a chair next to her and sitting in it so that he could lean into her and lay his head on her shoulder. She quite enjoyed the weight of it there, but she knew from experience that being any more intimate with the man, while enjoyable in the moment, did not end well. Maybe it was her; after all, both of the relationships she'd tried to pursue seriously had ended, one amicably and the other quite badly until they'd managed to patch up their years long friendship and agree to never speak about the two years they'd spent as a couple again. But no, though she was no saint, she knew now that in addition to her not being ready for the level of commitment both men had wanted, something had been missing in each of the relationships. And how was it that she'd managed to fall into bed with quidditch players and fans when she herself had no interest in the sport? Really, she'd come to the conclusion after Oliver that she was looking for romance in the wrong place, and that while the men she tended to date made excellent friends, they were not what she needed in a lover.

"Only a little," said Hermione, "But I'll drown my sorrows in more booze when I get home."

Harry laughed and patted her on the shoulder. "Before or after you go to your parents for the traditional birthday dinner?" he asked. Hermione sat up straight like a bolt.

"Shit, what time is it?" she exclaimed. Apparently done with his floo call, Ron lifted his wrist up inches from his face as he wandered back towards them.

"Half past six," he said. "I think."

"Bloody, bloody, bloody hell," said Hermione, ripping off her crown and sash and stuffing them into her little clutch purse on the table. She'd retired her beaded bag soon after the battle at Hogwarts, but the spell she'd used had been too useful not to replicate, and so the crown and the sash both fit in easily.

"I'm late," she said, turning around to kiss the cheek of each of her three friends and nearly toppling over her feet in the process. "I'll see the lot of you tomorrow." And with that she beat a hasty retreat out onto the London street. Charring Cross Road always seemed to be busy to her, and today was no exception. She was grateful she'd remembered to take off the sash and crown in her drunk state, before coming out onto the muggle side of the pub. She managed to make her way a little bit down the street to hail a cab before she remembered she could apparate and save herself the galleons. Er, pounds. Which she didn't actually have on her person anyway.

Turning herself around, Hermione made her way back towards the pub. She remembered now that the nearest safe place to apparate was inside of the Leaky Cauldron, and that while she was there she could probably convince Tom to sell her a Pepper-Up Potion, which she'd found out on her last birthday worked much more quickly to sober her than water and coffee alone.

It was on this last thought that Hermione's brain crashed to a screeching halt at the sight of a tall man standing between her and the entrance if the pub.

"Miss. Granger," he said, voice low and smooth and extremely disapproving. She watched him, trying to place the face and the voice, but failing in her drunken state.

"Er, hello," she managed, tidying her blouse almost involuntarily and then thinking to herself that it had been a silly thing to do. "Can I help you?"

The man furrowed his thick black brows and curled his top lip into a sneer, staring down at her for an uncomfortable half minute before speaking.

"I had hoped so," he said, words short and clipped, "But I think perhaps I was mistaken." And with that he had whirled about, the thick black cloak he wore over his shoulders flaring out impressively behind him before he stopped and turned to look back at her, an expression of what looked to her like disbelief etched across his almost familiar features.

"Do you make a habit of being inebriated before sunset on Sundays, Miss. Granger? Has your legendary good judgement fallen so far below the mark, or have you simply turned into a lush in my absence?" he hissed.

"It's my birthday," she said defensively, crossing her arms and lifting her chin defiantly. "And you are not the boss of me." Admittedly, that had not been her best line ever, but Hermione was impressed she'd managed to get anything out at all given the haze enveloping her thoughts.

The man arched one brow and sneered again before whirling back around and marching off down the street.

Fuming, Hermione made her way back into the pub and over to where her friends still sat, chatting merrily.

"You would not believe what Professor Snape just said to me," she hissed, sinking into a seat and slamming her fist onto the table.

All three of the men looked up at her, eyes wide and expressions confused.

"Snape?" said Harry? "Severus Snape?"

"Yes, _Severus_ Snape, Harry. Honestly, do keep up."

"Dead, Snape?" asked Ron, looking confused.

"Yes, Dead Snape," said Hermione, and she was about to continue with her story when the facts of the situation hit her square on the nose.

Professor Severus Snape, the _dead_ Snape, had just called her a lush.

As it turned out, realizing she'd just met her dead professor outside and told him he wasn't the boss of her was far more sobering than pepper-up potion.

Hermione did not make it to her birthday dinner at her parents. She'd stepped back out of the pub after trying to convince Harry, Ron and Oliver of what she'd seen for half an hour, and called her mother to let her know she'd have to reschedule. And then she'd set out down Charring Cross Road and wandered about for an hour before she acknowledged that looking for Snape at this point was nothing more than a study in futility.

Finding a quiet place down some muggle alley, she apparated back to her little flat in Earls Court. She arrived just inside the front door and put her wand away immediately, stepping into the living room and letting herself fall down onto the couch.

What an evening she'd had. She kept going over the conversation with Professor Snape in front of the Leaky Cauldron, kicking herself all the while for being so obscenely, blindly drunk that she couldn't even recognize him standing right before her, and then for taking so long to realize what it meant once she'd connected his face with his name. Never again, for as long as she lived, would she let herself get so completely pissed.

Her head still spun as she laid back on the couch cushions, pulling one of the pillows beneath the mess of her curls. Severus Snape was alive. It was impossible, but she'd seen him, and she may have been inebriated, but she would never mistake that face as belonging to anyone else. His long black hair had been tied back with what she guessed was a bit of leather, and his skin had been less pale, more tan as if he'd had the luxury of actually going out in the sun light once or twice since the last time she'd seen him.

Circe, she didn't even want to think about her last look at him in life, but she couldn't stop the flood of memories now that she'd opened up the dam.

_"Harry, Ron, Professor Snape!" The boys had looked at her as if she were mad, but standing there, surrounded by all the portraits of the schools dead headmasters, something had occurred to her. "We've got to go," she'd stammered, springing towards the door and flinging herself down the spiral staircase, Harry and Ron following closely behind. _

_"Hermione, wait!" Ron shouted, sprinting after her as she ran at full speed through the castle and out onto the grounds. She couldn't remember running so fast in her entire life, but she couldn't stop her legs now, or the pounding of her heart in her ears as her mind worked frantically. _

_They had seen him die, she had been so sure of it. That's what death had always looked like in the movies, on other people. Why, oh why hadn't she checked for a pulse? She had been an idiot, a stupid, thoughtless girl. If she had been thinking, if she had been bloody logical as she prided herself for being, she would have _ known_. But no, everything she'd ever learned about potions and poisons and venoms in her six years under Professor Snape's tutelage had eluded her and she'd been left an empty brained nit-wit. _

_ When she had realized in the Headmaster's office that there was a portrait missing, she had realized her mistake. She did not question how, or why, but she knew in that moment that Severus Snape, former headmaster of Hogwarts, was alive and suffering. She knew it as surely as she knew Voldemort was finally gone and Harry was her best friend and she loved Ron. She knew it in the place she knew everything she knew or had reasoned out. _

_When she reached the Whomping Willow she used her wand to freeze it and then worked to blast the wall Snape had erected at the mouth of the tunnel out of existence. She made quick work of it and was done before Harry and Ron had caught up to her, making her way down under the tree and practically flying through the tunnel. _

_By the time she reached Snape, he certainly seemed completely dead. There was what looked like several pints of blood pooling on the floor, and he was as pale as a ghost. _

_"Merlin," she'd muttered as she had dropped to her knees beside him, the cooling and congealing blood on the floor coating her trousers and soaking through to chill her skin. _

_"Professor Snape," she had said, "If you can hear me, I'm going to try to help you." She sounded like a loon talking to a corpse, but she didn't care. If there was a chance she could save him, she would do it. Never mind what he'd done in the past, she'd seen something else in him before, when he'd given Harry his dying memories, and she'd thought as she'd sat with the Weasley's mourning Fred and the rest of them, that a man with so much emotion behind pained eyes, a man who would give his dying memories to the son of a man he was supposed to have loathed… well, Hermione had a sneaking suspicion after all of that, that their professor was not the man he'd seemed to the world. _

_And if she was wrong, she reminded herself, he was still human, and every human life was worth saving. _

_When Harry and Ron finally reached her, she was still on her knees. She had managed to pour her two remaining vials of blood replenishing potion into the professors throat and was taking the last of the essence of dittany in its small vial and dripping it carefully over the jagged wounds on his neck. _

_"Get help!" She shouted over her shoulder as the boys stood by, staring mutely at her. She pulled Bellatrix's wand out of her sleeve and set to work. After Ron had been splinched, Hermione had made a point of practicing the healing spells in the books of healing magic she'd brought with them, though it wasn't until after Christmas that she'd been able to master them. The books had been more encompassing of theory than practice, and it had taken quite a great deal of practice and experimentation before she had become proficient with the spell work. Now though, she was very glad she had taken the time. _

_Healing Snape's neck wound fully drained her, but by the time a healer arrived on the scene it was mended, which seemed to surprise them as Hermione remembered that they hadn't been able to do so with Arthur's wounds at St. Mungos._

_Still, after all of that, the Healers had pronounced him dead and told her that the reason she'd had any luck with the wound was probably because her magic had most likely recognized the dead professors corpse as an inanimate object and transfigured it in her desperation. She, of course, had disagreed, but even after barging her way into St. Mungos and demanding to be shown his body like a complete lunatic so that she could inspect it and make triple sure that they wouldn't be burying a live man, she had been forced to concede that he was dead. _

_The lack of portrait had continued to haunt her though, nagging at her every time she'd gone to visit Minerva in the Headmistress' office that last year at Hogwarts. She had even brought it up to the other woman once. _

_"Perhaps," The professor had said, "The castle did not recognize him as Headmaster, in the same way that insufferable Umbridge woman was not recognized." _

_Hermione had raised a brow at the comparison but said nothing. She doubted that Snape would not have been recognized by the castle. He had, after all, been working for Dumbledore the whole time, and doing his damnedest to protect the children of the school and defeat Voldemort while he was at it. _

But now, back in her flat in 2004, Hermione knew she had been mistaken to let others convince her of something she knew to be untrue. How long had Professor Snape spent locked up in his coffin? How had he survived? And why had he returned to seek her out after all this time? Did he know what she had done? That she had failed and allowed him to be buried alive? Was he here seeking revenge?

_Don't be ridiculous_, she chided herself. If he was looking to punish her for putting him through that ordeal, she hardly imagined he'd show up out of the blue while she was completely pissed, call her "Miss. Granger" and then a lush, and then leave her there to ruminate on it all. And that was if she had actually seen him at all.

Harry, Ron and Oliver remained unconvinced and had actually seemed quite concerned that their swot of a friend thought she'd seen her dead professor, a man Ron and Harry knew quite well how hard she had worked to save. It was that in part that had led her to spend the summer locked up with Ron in his bedroom, affirming that though so many others had lost their lives, she still had hers.

A tapping at the window of her flat caught her attention and she sat upright, peering out into the darkness at a large brown barn owl fluttering and screeching to be let it. She rose and went to the window, struggling to open it and stepping back to let the bird in. From somewhere behind her, Hermione heard Crookshanks meow inquisitively.

"It's all right, Crooks," she said, reaching for the rolled up parchment the owl held in its talons and taking it from him. "Thanks," she said to the owl. It just stared at her and she could swear it looked annoyed as it took flight, circled her living room exciting Crookshanks, and then took off out of the window without waiting for any sort of reply from her.

"Right," she muttered to herself, unrolling the parchment and holding it up to the light of the nearest lamp so that she could read it. As she recognized the cramped yet elegant script, her eyes widened and her heart began to race.

_Miss. Granger, _

_Please meet me at Earls Court Station at half past noon, tomorrow. Assuming you're capable of coherent speech at that point, I should very much like to have a conversation with you. _

_Regards, _

_SS_

He was alive then. Severus Snape. One of the wizarding world's most celebrated war heroes was alive, and back in Britain looking to speak with her.

Hermione folded up the note and slipped it into her pocket before making her way back to the couch where she laid down, tried not to panic, and fell promptly asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

_How feeble is man's power,_

_ That is a good fortune fall,_

_Cannot add another hour,_

_ Nor a lost hour recall!_

_ But come bad chance,_

_And we join to'it our strength,_

_And we teach it art and length,_

_ Itself o'er us to'advance. _

_—John Donne_

What should have been a joyous and triumphant first morning at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was instead full of anxiety and inattention to detail that would have appalled Hermione had she been in the right frame of mind. As it was, however, she was preoccupied by the meeting she hadn't stopped thinking about since the night before.

Upon waking that morning, what she had initially thought a dream was verified as reality by the neatly folded note in her pocket signed _SS_. She hadn't stopped thinking of it since, not as she had dressed in her black ministry robes, nor as she had flooed to work and met Gawain Robards in his office on Level Two. In fact, as the Head of her department had greeted her, Hermione had been working out exactly how long it would take her to walk from her flat on Collingham Gardens to the Earls Court Tube Station. She hadn't often had occasion to make the walk, but she thought she remembered it being about ten minutes.

"Hermione?"

Looking up, Hermione tried to shake all thoughts of Snape from her head. "Thank you, Sir," she said, "I'm very excited to be here."

"Please, call me Gawain. Sir is so formal. And we are delighted to have you on. I was most impressed with your work on the Elvish Welfare bill."

"Thank you," said Hermione modestly, "I enjoyed working on it very much. It had really been a bit of a pet project of mine since Hogwarts."

"Well done in any case," he said, "Though I must admit what really piqued my interest when you put in for this transfer, was our discussion regarding the number of pro-pureblood laws still on the books. I am eager to have someone as passionate as you are working towards true equality under wizarding law."

"I'll do my best," Hermione said, nodding and trying not to blush. It always pleased her when others were understanding of her causes, and she had a feeling she and her new boss were going to get along famously.

"Right," said Gawain, "I'll show you to your office then, sorry we didn't have it ready for you before now, but the windows still had to be done, and there was an unpleasant smell."

"That's quite all-right," said Hermione, "I've my things here with me," she patted her clutch purse, "and can get to work just as soon as I've unpacked."

"Take the day to familiarize yourself with the level," said Gawain as her stopped outside of office door number seven, putting his hand on the door knob. "Free coffee and tea are past the Auror's cubicles." And with that he pushed open her office door and stepped to the side.

It was larger than her last office, but to her the crowning gem of it all was the floor to ceiling windows along the back wall which offered her a fabulous view of the city from what seemed like the top floor of an extremely tall building. She could see Parliament, Big Ben, The London Eye, and West Minster Cathedral grouped together in the distance beside the sparkling Thames.

"I had them install extra bookshelves," Gawain told her, motioning toward the left wall, which was completely covered by the shelves. "Amos told me how you about walled yourself in stacking them on your desk on level four."

Hermione laughed and smiled at her new department head, who looked startled but pleased as he smiled back at her.

"I've taken the liberty of scheduling a meeting with the team who'll be working for you tomorrow morning at ten," he continued. "Everyone should be up to snuff, but keep in mind if they aren't you've got hiring and firing powers over your section. I think you're already familiar with the other three heads beneath me in this department, so I needn't force play-dates there, but please take time to stop by their offices today." As it happened, Hermione was well acquainted with all three of her department counterparts. Mafalda Hopkirk, who headed up the Improper use of Magic department, had hired her on as an intern the summer after she graduated with her NEWTs, helping her to secure her position at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Arthur, who headed the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts section, was of course, almost a surrogate father to her in the wizarding world, and though she and Ron were no longer an item, Arthur was still as affectionate to her as ever. And then there was Harry, the youngest Head Auror on the books, though with a list of accomplishments as long as his, it was no surprise.

"I'll do that," said Hermione.

"Well then," said Gawain, stepping out of the office and peering back at her through the doorway. "I'll leave you to get comfortable. We'll chat more tomorrow morning about the day to day." And with that he was gone, leaving her alone in the empty office.

As she unloaded her little purse, she thought, trying to plan out exactly what she would say tomorrow to her staff. Unfortunately, there were other things on her mind, and by the time she'd managed to fill the top shelves on the east wall with books, she'd given up and begun obsessing over what exactly Severus Snape might want with her.

By the time it was a quarter past noon, Hermione had finished unpacking her things and thought her office looked quite cozy. In addition to the army of books she'd unloaded on her shelves (a third of which hadn't actually fit and had needed to be stacked in the open corner to the right of her desk along the west wall) she'd also set various photographs of her parents, friends, and travels on the desk, along with a large, glass vase she liked to keep stocked with hard candies.

"Afternoon," said a male voice from her open doorway. Hermione looked up and smiled at Harry who stood there, leaning up against the doorframe and smiling at her. "All moved in, are we?"

"Just about," said Hermione, "Hows your head today?"

Harry laughed, "My head? I wasn't nearly as pissed as you were, Hermione. I'm surprised you made it to work at all today."

She shrugged and leaned back in her chair. "I wasn't that bad," she said.

"Right," teased Harry, "You were convinced you'd seen a ghost and you 'weren't that bad.'"

Hermione's shoulders tightened at the mention of Snape's visit the night before, and she nearly pulled his note from her pocket for Harry to read. Something stopped her though as her hand was about to twitch into action. What if Snape didn't want her to tell? As far as she knew, no one else had seen him, and he hadn't exactly made a big comeback to the wizarding world. What if he were counting on her discretion? _Or worse_, whispered a voice in her head_, what if he wasn't really there, and you've had a mental break down?_ Hermione ignored the voice but didn't reach for the note, choosing instead to smile up at her friend.

"Perhaps I was a little drunk," she admitted before making a big production of checking the time on her watch. "Merlin, is that the time?" she said, standing up and grabbing her cloak from where she'd left it folded on the back of her chair. "I've got to go Harry. Catch you after lunch?"

"What?" said Harry, looking confused as she strolled past him, "I thought we might grab a bite to eat! Ron said he'd like to come too!"

"Thanks Harry," she called back at him, "But I've already got lunch plans. Tomorrow?" She didn't wait to hear his answer, choosing instead to make her way out of ear shot as quickly as possible to avoid any questions she felt uncomfortable answering. It took only a couple of minutes for her to reach the atrium of the Ministry of Magic Headquarters, and from there she was able to apparate back to her flat in Earls Court. She discarded her ministry robes in record time, revealing the high heeled shoes and work suit she wore beneath. Her hair was already pulled back in a loose bun from work, and so there was nothing left to do but head out the door. With a deep breath and a straightening of her spine, she did so.

* * *

At precisely half past noon, Severus Snape arrived at the Earls Court Tube Station. After paying his cabbie and leaving a generous tip, he disembarked and headed towards the entrance. He had always felt vaguely uncomfortable in muggle clothing— a product perhaps, of his childhood spent in the most ill fitting of them— but he wore them now with complete confidence, the black slacks and crisp white button up shirt looking tidy and professional beneath a suit jacket and scarf, though his shoulder length hair somewhat ruined the effect.

He looked about the front of the station, noting that Miss. Granger had not yet arrived and then checking his pocket watch.

Late, of course. He was a fool to have expected anything less from a childish swot who would parade herself about the city inebriated. Sighing, he inspected a bench outside of a Pasty shop before taking a seat on it. His trousers had not been inexpensive, and he was loth to ruin them. Would that he'd learned to do proper cleaning charms other that the abrasive scourgify in his youth, but such household magic had never interested him, and the Hogwarts elves had enjoyed that type of labor. Far be it from him to do their work for them. He might have tried to learn over the past six years, but he had been a bit pre-occupied, and so he would forgive himself the lapse.

Checking his watch again, he began to tap his foot. Blasted girl, his time was precious to him, as bewilderingly as he'd come by it, and she was wasting precious minutes. Of all the inconsiderate, ungrateful, untimely, wretched—

"Professor Snape?"

Severus looked up at the woman who had just addressed him. He was startled for a moment before he realized it was Granger. She certainly looked different in the light of day. Where before her hair had been long and unkempt, frizzing about her face like some sort of ridiculous bonnet, it was now smooth and gathered at the nape of her neck in an elegant twist. Her clothes were not the disheveled mess from the night before, but a smart charcoal pant suit with a light blue blouse beneath and a rope of pearls at her neck. She looked quite professional and if she hadn't been tardy he might have reassessed his conclusions about her drawn the night before.

"Granger," he said stiffly, rising to stand and keeping his hands in plain view at his sides.

"My God," she whispered, voice gone hoarse, "It really is you, isn't it? I haven't gone mad?"

"I should think not," he replied, watching her for signs that she might do something to draw too much attention to themselves.

"It's only just, well, you were dead," she babbled, looking up at him as if he were some sort of ghost. "I saw you. I saw you in the Shrieking Shack. You had died, the healers all said so. We had a funeral for you. We buried you!" Her voice had grown increasingly louder and he looked about, hoping no one would stop to listen to the ramblings of the young woman in the gray suit.

"Yes, I'm aware," said Severus, voice low and chiding, "Now please do keep your voice down lest the entire street assume I'm some sort of savior."

"What?" said Granger, looking confused.

Severus rolled his eyes. "An allusion to Christ," he said, "I assume you know who he is? Muggle. Rose from the dead." He watched as the expression of confusion on the girls face changed to one of annoyance.

"I am familiar with him yes, I was simply bewildered at your comparison. As far as I know, the savior of the wizarding world was Harry Potter, not Severus Snape." Her tone was icy and Severus found himself sneering down at her, itching to tell her just what he really thought of Mr. Harry Potter. Unfortunately, though it was for Potter that he had resurfaced, the reason was—lamentably—not to insult him.

"Really," said Severus instead, eyes glittering as he drew out the word. He was going to enjoy the next part of this conversation very much. "Well then, I hardly think you'll be needing the information I've brought you. After all, Mr. Potter is the savior of the wizarding world, the _chosen one_ I dare say. What use could knowledge of a plot against his life be to one such as him?" And with that he turned his back to the speechless Hermione Granger, his pride satisfied as she watched him go. Would to God that he'd had the ability to render her so silent in his classes.

"Professor!" she called finally, her mind having clearly caught up to what he'd said. "Professor, wait!" He slowed his gait and allowed her to catch up to him as he continued on.

"I'm sorry," she said in a rush. Severus raised an eye-brow but did not acknowledge her apology. Not yet. "I just… I'm surprised to see you. You were _dead_ sir, I watched them lower you into the ground. And then that awful business with your body being stolen splashed all over the prophet and the wireless and, well, I suppose it wasn't stolen after all. And now you're here and its as if I'm back in school and I suppose I'm not thinking properly. It's been an awful shock, and I just can't understand how—"

"Not even I know the how of it, Miss. Granger," he said, cutting her off. "And it doesn't do to dwell. Let us both agree that the means by which we've come to this point are unimportant. I've buried my curiosity, and I'd ask that you bury yours." He stopped where he stood on the sidewalk, ignoring the muggles passing by and shooting odd glances their way before meeting Granger's gaze. He could tell that she understood the gravity of his request and he hoped she would have the good sense to respect it.

"Allright," she said simply, and he nodded at her.

"In that case, I forgive your earlier insult."

Granger raised a brow as if she were about to speak, but clearly thought better of it. Severus was grateful for her discretion as it saved him from coming up with another scathing reply. The pair stood there in awkward silence for a moment before she finally spoke.

"You said someone had threatened Harry?" she asked.

Severus exhaled, turning to continue down the street. "Yes," he said, "An old _friend_ of mine has been recruiting help in a plot against Mr. Potter. I learned of it several months ago and—"

"Months?" Came Granger's shrill reply.

"Is it necessary to interrupt me at such a high decibel?" Drawled Severus, continuing down the pavement as he spoke.

"You've known about this for months, and you're only just letting us know _now_?"

"I had some things to work out before coming," he said vaguely, knowing it would bother the know-it-all chit.

"Things to— are you serious?" She had stopped walking and Severus stopped his own progress in annoyance.

"Quite. Unless you thought I'd come back to London for my health? If it hasn't occurred to you, as I suspect it has not given the ridiculous expression of bewilderment you're wearing, I've come back with a plan. And believe me, if it didn't absolutely necessitate me being here, I would have sent a bloody note and been well shot of the problem."

The look of incredulity on the girl was not flattering to her features. She had grown since he had last seen her, maturing in subtle ways from the girl of 18 he'd last seen hovering behind Potter in the Shrieking Shack. She was now, clearly an adult woman, though he could not shake the image of those wide, startled eyes watching him bleed to death as he watched her. The look she was giving him now though wrinkled her brow, and squinted her eyes unattractively. It was off-putting, really.

"You've got a plan… To save Harry from a plot against his life?"

"Yes," said Severus. The Irony had not been lost on him. Harry Potter. It always came down to him. He'd lost his life protecting the brat once before, and here he was again, ready to plunge into danger to do it all over. And for what? The love of a woman long lost to him? He hardly knew anymore. He hadn't had occasion to cast a patronus in over six years, and while his heart felt healed after the hell of his former life, he _had_ ripped himself from a rather comfortable existence to come and do what he knew she would have wanted of him. Maybe though, he thought, this knew quest of his (an extension of an old one really) was not about Lily at all. Perhaps it was about him, and Harry Potter, the child he'd spent half of his adult life protecting. Maybe he just couldn't kick the habit.

"Professor?"

Granger's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and Severus looked down at her.

"Yes, I have a plan, Miss. Granger, and it involves you as well, assuming you're still as bright as you once thought yourself. We've a lot to discuss." He watched her for any signs that she might rise to his insult, but there were none. He smirked to himself, satisfied. "And do stop calling me that, I'm not your professor any longer."

"What shall I call you then?" she snipped.

"I believe most adults call each other by their given names, unless you have some objection to mine?"

"No, of course not," she said, looking vaguely uncomfortable and shifting her weight from one side to another before it seemed to occur to her what the polite thing was in a situation such as this.

"Then you may call me Hermione," she said finally.

"Oh what an honor," Severus drawled before looking down at his pocket watch again. "It will be one soon. I assume you'll be wanted back at the Ministry?" Hermione nodded. "Well then," He said, "If you've no objections I'll accompany you. We can talk as we travel."

And with that he motioned for her to lead the way, ignoring her utter confusion and congratulating himself on managing to leave the bane of his teaching career so thoroughly perplexed and clearly unsure of herself. He would forever be proud of the accomplishment.


End file.
